February
by Astrantia
Summary: The image before him takes several seconds to register. SheppardWeir.


**Spoilers:** Major spoilers for 3x17, 'Sunday.' Read further at your own risk!

**Pairings:** Sheppard/Weir and Branton/Weir.

**A/N: **A little late for Valentine's Day, but I'm swamped with homework. I'm experimenting with writing styles at the moment, so this will be different to my usual work. I couldn't bring myself to write fluff for Valentine's Day (I'm not sure why.), so you get angst instead. The end lightens up a bit, though:)

Again: Spoilers for 'Sunday' following!!

* * *

**February**

* * *

She sits alone in the mess hall, focusing intently on a small, rectangular card. She doesn't look up when he joins her, but she blushes when he makes a half-joking remark about 'secret admirers.'

He knows that she knows he's curious, which is all the more evident when she suddenly asks him how high his pile is this year. He pauses, thinking of the stack of cards he'd found when he woke up. Each one was gushy and sweet, their sender safe behind a pseudonym. He was flattered last year, but this year he's somehow disappointed.

He can see that she's nervously waiting for an answer so she can gradually shift the conversation away from her own Valentine's Day. He tells her it isn't so much a pile, as a truckload, and when she rolls her eyes, he adds that he knows she contributed to it.

She merely smiles and watches him drag his fork through the food hastily thrown onto his plate.

When she gets up to leave, she mentions that she hears there's a plot to get him alone on a balcony tonight. The lucky winner of a competition is to join him. Wide-eyed, he listens as she goes on to tell him that he's apparently a _raffle_ prize.

He decides then that Valentine's Day really is the worst holiday ever created.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

There's a dark-haired stranger in Elizabeth's office.

He doubles back when he catches sight of the man adjusting a few long-stemmed roses in a vase. From the control room, he studies the stranger, who is tall, bearded, and has what he supposes could be called 'the rugged look.'

There's a tech standing close by who he knows fairly well. He asks her who the man is. After staring briefly, she tells him it's Dr. Branton who's currently lounging on Elizabeth's couch.

He mutters distractedly that he wonders why Branton is in Elizabeth's office. The tech- Angela- gives him a confused glance and says that Branton is obviously waiting for Elizabeth, and possibly bringing her flowers too.

The question 'why?' naturally forms. Angela lets slip something about 'Sunday' and that she'd be surprised if Branton wasn't bringing flowers around to Elizabeth.

He presses for details, but Angela clams up and hurries away to join a colleague. Ten minutes later, the expedition leader still isn't back.

He doesn't stay to see her arrive.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

When he passes her quarters and sees an elegantly decorated box of chocolates sitting at her door, he knows there's something going on.

He heads straight for her office, but bumps into her in one of the halls on the way. Startled, she stops making notes in her PDA and slows down as he falls into step beside her.

He casually - possibly too casually to be believable – brings up the box of chocolate. A flicker of disbelief crosses her face, replaced quickly by horror and just as speedily, a neutral expression of indifference. She shrugs and teasingly asks him if he thinks he should be the only person to receive gifts on Valentine's Day. He, of course, gives a negative.

He notices her pace quicken, though.

Two corners away from her quarters, he bluntly asks her if she's seeing someone. She hesitates before giving a decided 'no' and then sending him to the infirmary to check on the status of an injured Lorne.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

The plot to get him on the balcony tonight is already in motion. He runs into Nurse Kingston, who fabricates a story about Rodney planning a rendezvous with 'someone he'll never guess' and that if he wants to see first-hand this mystery lady, he should be on the balcony at eight o'clock sharp.

He suggests inviting Ronon and Teyla along and is amused when she insists that he go himself, because three people aren't as inconspicuous as one. He considers telling her that as both have fought and hid from the Wraith all their lives, they're probably more trained in stealth than him. She begins to look panicky, however, so he decides not to. He's curious as to who won him, anyway.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

The image before him takes several seconds to register.

He halts, watching Mike Branton lean down to kiss Elizabeth.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

'Were you ever going to tell me?'

The words come out more bitterly and harshly than he intends. She doesn't even seem surprised; her shoulders slump for a second in resignation.

'No,' she admits. 'I didn't think anything would happen after that Sunday.'

'And why didn't you tell me about that?' he demands, knowing that he's being irrational.

'Do you possess a pass to all the details of my life?' she snaps. 'There are some things I prefer not to discuss with my second-in-command, John, and after Carson…'

She falters.

'I'm sorry,' he tells her, genuinely apologetic. Her eyes cloud with tears, a sight that he has only seen four times during their three years in the Pegasus Galaxy.

'I feel lost, John. I don't- I don't know what I'm doing anymore.'

Death has always been a part of their lives since their arrival in the city. He knows how much the loss of each life affects her and how she can't sleep most nights. He was told that she'd restlessly wandered the city the night after Carson died.

All he can do is hold her, and pray that their time in Atlantis isn't always spent in mourning.

She whispers into his shoulder,

'Nothing happened with Mike. You didn't see what you thought you saw.'

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

The night is clear and beautiful. He rests his arms on the railing, idly observing the slow, steady crash of the waves.

His mystery "date" hasn't arrived yet. He's a little dressed up, because he figures he might as well give her a good story to relay back to her friends and fellow raffle participants.

The door slides open with a soft 'whoosh' and he turns.

His "date" is Elizabeth.

She smiles at his expression and quickly takes a place beside him. He's struck speechless.

'How-? Wait, _you _entered the _raffle_ draw?' he manages.

'I had a… few tickets entered at the last minute. Being in command has its good points.'

'A few?'

'It depends on how you define 'a few,' she says laughingly. 'At any rate, I won you for the night and I don't plan on that going to waste.'

She smiles again- this time mischievously- and holds up a pretty basket of chocolate and champagne.

'I won the second prize too.'

He raises an eyebrow in surprise, a look he mastered from her.

'And is it better than the first prize?'

She gives that some thought.

'No. No, I think I'd give up the second and third prizes combined for the first prize.'

'Wait- you won third as well?'

'I didn't accept it…'

He breaks into a grin.

* * *

**A/N: **I think this turned out somewhat melodramatic. I left some parts deliberately ambiguous and I hope it didn't feel too disconnected.

And that is my offering for Valentine's Day!


End file.
